


Look Away From the Sky

by roseofgalaxies (callmelyss)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fix-It, Implied Sexual Content, References to canonical character deaths, attempted self-sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27952343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmelyss/pseuds/roseofgalaxies
Summary: Amilyn, the Force sings, pure radiance. Amilyn, a comet. Amilyn, a blade of starlight, slicing through the First Order ships. As it will be, as it must be.Hasn’t it had enough, the Galaxy? It isn’t—No, Leia wants to deny it.***Leia is weary of death.
Relationships: Amilyn Holdo/Leia Organa
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs 2020





	Look Away From the Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valda/gifts).



> Dearest Valda,
> 
> First, an apology. There is more to your gift! Unfortunately, the main event is slightly delayed (should be up by creator reveals next week). I hope you enjoy this treat in the meantime. I loved the idea of giving Amilyn and Leia a happier ending—they deserve it.
> 
> Happy winter holidays to you. 
> 
> x

_“Someone has to stay behind and pilot the cruiser.”_

_“Too many losses. I can’t do it anymore.”_

It isn’t fair—it never is—it never has been.

Alderaan shattered like one of her mother’s glass ornaments, an ancient, precious, irreplaceable heirloom; she had been too careless with it, too confident, and only dust and debris remained.

That warm night on Endor, Luke confessed softly, gently, too gently, that he had a sister, and she felt the joy of it swoop in like the dawn—a _brother_ , not alone, not anymore—but understanding followed like a blaster shot to the gut. Yes, a brother, but also a father, a murderer, a monster.

Ben kissed her goodbye the last time, perfunctory, on the cheek, and his eyes shifted under those long lashes, the irises like summer pools under leaves, belying something, _someone_ else, and she could have called him back to her. Didn’t.

Han snuffed out like a far-off star, where he had always flickered bright and now nothing, in the Force, in the Galaxy, gone.

It’s never fair, she tells the young ones when they lose their worlds, their families; the Galaxy takes it all. Go ahead and be angry, as angry as you need. You’ll need it for the fight ahead. Her own anger eludes her just now, worming out of her grip. Is there anything left? Amilyn’s eyes are wet, knowing, her lower lip crumpling with regret. She squeezes Leia’s hand goodbye.

Amilyn, at sixteen, her smile all mischief and all daring. Amilyn kissing her on a Pamarthe walkway, the two of them shrouded by mist. Amilyn piloting a stolen freighter through a dogfight, scattering the TIES when she charged straight at them, whooping. Amilyn in the capitol gardens on Gatalenta, surrounded by flowers, dew-jeweled petals, by music and poetry, the Force honey-warm around them both. Amilyn strolling into her Senate chambers on Hosnian Prime after another failed vote, to do any damn thing, and flopping into the nearest chair, the questions already on her lips, _When do we start, who do we want, where are we going to set up the base?_ Everything Leia was thinking and had not yet voiced.

Amilyn’s arms around her after Han left the last time, after Ben. Firm kisses pressed to Leia’s temple. Her pulse steady between her shoulders.

Amilyn, the Force sings, pure radiance. Amilyn, a comet. Amilyn, a blade of starlight, slicing through the First Order ships. As it will be, as it must be.

Hasn’t it had enough, the Galaxy? It isn’t—

 _No_ , Leia wants to deny it.

“No,” Poe says. He’s leaning against the transport’s entrance, panting, sweat standing out on his face, bloodless. _You look awful, flyboy, like somebody shot you,_ but also, _I should have stunned you twice._ “I should—let me do it. Look, we all know I fucked up; let me do something.”

Amilyn is already shaking her head, and it isn’t any better, this choice, even if it was one, her friend—lover, compatriot—or this young man she’s watched stumble and stagger and get up and keep going, continue fighting countless times, wrongheaded as his decisions sometimes are. How like and unlike _him_ he can be, she can’t but think of him when she looks at Poe. (Then, she hadn’t been so different herself once.)

 _Let_ me _do it_ , _damn it,_ she could say, but they never will, either of them, any of them, allow that, and that has always been the price of being the Princess, the General. Someone has to speak the names, preside over the funerals, remind them _why_.

She has never felt older than she does saying, “Poe, we don’t have time for this. It’s the Admiral’s decision.” If she had been awake, it might not have gone this way. If she had—

“Respectfully, General,” Poe answers, every bit his mother’s son. “The Admiral’s decision is banthashit.” He holds up both hands, not exactly in supplication, maybe just asking for their patience, for a chance. “We don’t sacrifice what we can’t afford to lose. Right?”

“Have you been listening at all?” Leia asks, letting her exasperation slip. “Enough of the heroics. We can’t afford to lose you either.”

Poe’s grinning, and this is what makes the new pilots flock to him, hang on his every word, follow him into battle time and again, no matter how dire the straights. He’s a damn good pilot, it’s true, but it’s this, the easy confidence, the assurance he knows what’s right, the unwavering commitment to the cause, that makes him their captain.

If only he would be more than that, she’s thought, several times since D'Qar alone. If only he’d let himself be more than that.

“You won’t,” he says, with all the cadence of a promise, so much so she almost believes him. “Lose me. Or that’s not the plan, at least.”

Leia exchanges a long look with Amilyn. Something familiar glimmers in her eyes. Amilyn climbing an Imperial comms relay. Amilyn at the blaster range, muttering under her breath as she shoots (she still does). Amilyn draped across the chaise on Leia’s balcony, drinking tea and hatching plans until the plom-bloom glow of the dawn. Amilyn, pulling the pins out of her hair one by one, running her fingers through it after, tugging at her scalp, sending quakes down, down, down her spine.

_This one’s trouble. I like him._

_So do I_.

Leia purses her lips and levels him with her wryest, least impressed look. “And what exactly is the plan?”

Poe’s smile broadens.

* * *

It’s not a perfect plan—more misdirection, as on D’qar, and some of the most ass-backward flying she’s ever seen—but Leia expected that.

It also works, which she didn’t.

The First Order is still on their heels when they land on Crait. Amilyn’s hand is warm around hers as she guides her through the tunnels, helping her over the uneven ground. She steadies Leia when she stumbles.

Amilyn, in the afternoon light, splayed across Leia’s bed, un-self-conscious, all the long pale lines of her, her hair a violet halo on the pillow. Amilyn, crowding her into an alcove and kissing her breathless while their colleagues walk by, unaware. Amilyn, biting at her throat, her breasts, teasing her cunt with light, fluttering licks until she begs for more.

Amilyn, alive.

She doesn’t let go of her hand as they board the _Falcon_ , always that recognition in her pale eyes, like she feels what Leia does before she can. _Han’s_ ship, his presence scribed in every wire and panel, and how far this ship has taken them for so many years, and Luke’s gone now, too. All that’s left of them: this. But it’s enough, it has to be.

Amilyn squeezes her hand, not goodbye, not this time. _I’m here._

It isn’t that they haven’t lost; they have and will again. But as long as there’s this, hope through the long night, they have everything they need.

And so does she.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
